


Amnesiatic Desires

by GrotesqueEnchantment



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Blood, Blood Bond, Dry Humping, F/M, I'll update it with more as we go, Manipulative Behavior, Manipulative Relationship, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, Sparring, Vaginal Sex, amnesia!Carol, honestly i have no idea, its More like a medium burn I think but who knoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrotesqueEnchantment/pseuds/GrotesqueEnchantment
Summary: Carol lives a boring life on Earth, having lost her memory a second time. The neighbor downstairs looks eerily familiar though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by DenseHumboldt fics! They are so good and I live for the blood bond! Please check them out!
> 
> EDIT: Hi y'all! Guess what! [DenseHumboldt ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenseHumboldt/pseuds/DenseHumboldt) created an AMAZING fic using this prompt. Please go check out [Running Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711547/chapters/44379208)  
> It is seriously fantastic full of twists and turns and the unexpected! 
> 
> Again, I'm lazy as all heck so I apologize for spelling or grammatical errors.

Monotony. Dull. Boring.

She doesn’t know when it happened. When that spark of life left her. When it left her presence and vanished into the cosmos. She doesn’t even know if it’s always been this way.

What she does know is that waking up, again, from the same damn alarm clock is going to make her run her fist through the wall.

Not that she could. It’s metaphorical.

She’s been working the same dead end job for three years. Making enough money to fund the back end apartment she calls home. But damn if it’s not her back end apartment. She’s been decorating it with blues and reds for the last three years. She’s not sure why, but does she honestly need a reason? Anything to break up the white walls.

She finally drags herself out of bed. She shuffled in her tank top and panties to the kitchen, brews up some caffeinated sludge, and downs it in one go. The only saving grace to her morning is always the view from her apartment.

The sky is always so beautiful. She yearns for it. Somehow _knows_ that the endless expanse of blue is where she truly belongs. If she’s lucky, maybe she can soar higher than the blue. Just to touch upon the inky blank expanse would be electrifying. But that day isn’t today.

No, today is the day that her weirdly familiar neighbor stares at her from the mailboxes again. It’s usually how it goes. He’s been doing this for the last month. He casually (so fucking slow) gets his mail, stares into her window for a solid 5 minutes, and then strolls his way back into the ramshackle apartment building.

She wants to break his nose. Watch the blood drip.

The feeling always grips her tight. She doesn’t even know _what_ she’s feeling. Ravenous? Psychotic? A little _pissed the hell off?_

Really there’s no reason to feel that way. She doesn’t even know him. Hasn’t spoken any words to him. Doesn’t even know what he sounds like. But dammit if his smug as hell face doesn’t make her crazy.

Shirt. Jeans. Jacket. Boots.

Today’s the day. She's sick of _wanting._ She’s going to go down there, tell him she’s sick of him. It’ll either end well, with her want to punch him in the face satisfied, or it’ll end terribly, with both of them going their separate ways and never speaking to each other again.

She’s careful to grab her keys. Tired of replacing the lock after breaking into her apartment more times than she can count. She doesn’t really want to be locked outside of the building either. Not with the man she just may punch.

She catches him right at the door.

“Tired of waiting for a better show?” He seems surprised to see her, hear her acknowledge his morning activity. “Or have you realized how creepy it is to look into a woman’s window in the morning?”

His lips perk into a smile. His eyes (honey brown, almost golden?) light up with something Carol believes must be relief. He laughs under a breath of relief. It prickles her nerves more than it should. Maybe it was a bad idea to talk to him.

“Do you sleep well?” This time it’s her turn to be taken aback. Who the hell? Before she can voice her question, he continues. “Your hair is always in such a state of disarray, I can’t tell if you’ve slept great or terrible.”

“Frankly, my hair is nothing you should be worried about.” She tries to stand even taller, make herself seem more intimidating. “Nothing you should be so concerned with that you have to look every morning.” She sets her jaw, steels her eyes. She’d burn through him now if she could.

“The walls are thin here.” He doesn’t back down. Eyes soften, more gold than brown, and far away as if he’s remembering something. “I can hear that you have nightmares.” She doesn’t show her surprise. “I can’t help but feel a little worried after hearing that.”

“There are better ways to check on people you know.” Something about the way he says it softens her heart. She should stop assuming the worst in people. She moves out of the doorway. Gives him room to enter the building.  “Less creepy.”

“You’re not very approachable.” He says, lips perked back into their smug demeanor. He steps towards her to come in. “And honestly how much creepier would it be if I came up to your door and said ‘hey, I hear you screaming at night. Are you okay?’”

She laughs under her breathe at that one. When he takes a step into the building, Carol stops him with a hard hand on his chest.

The feeling is instant. Electricity runs through her body. Ignites every cell. She wants to run her other hand over him too, wants to feel every inch. Can almost pin point places she _knows_ would make him weak. Whether with pleasure or pain, she’s not sure. Her blood hums.

“Don’t do it anymore.” She fights against instinct, doesn’t let the words come out as frenzied as she feels. They are a threat. One she intends to keep, even if she has to dose every cell in her body with ice.

“I won’t.” His voice is so low. She wonders if he feels it too. Wonders if his blood thrums under his skin. Wants to pull and feel and _taste_ as she does.

She moves her hand off his chest. Nods at him once before leaving out the door her entered.

She runs harder than any time before. Wishes she wore the proper shoes and clothing. But she hasn’t expected to need to burn off so much energy so quickly.

She feels like she’s _buzzing_. Can feel the electricity crackle under her skin. Can almost envision it leaping from her fingertips. Can almost taste the way the air ripples around her, a storm waiting to launch its first lightning bolt.

What she’s 100% certain of is that it was definitely a bad idea to talk to him.

What she can’t wait for is to collide with him again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on my phone just now. I’m sorry for spelling and grammatical errors. Also sorry for any weird formatting that may happen.

His eyes burned through her dreams. Replacing the monsters, the people, the throbbing pain of a landing gone wrong. They haunted her. So familiar, like she should remember them. 

They’re more intense in her dreams. A bright yellow-gold. Shimmering with control, anger, determination, pride, and  _ want _ . They pierce through her very being. Force her awake, gasping for breath.

She’s up again at some godless hour. Trying to burn off the energy of a bad dream. Still her heart. She wants to punch something, wants to fight and fight until her lungs give out. 

It’s always been her reaction to these dreams. Her body remembers a different time. Where she would collide with someone, burn through the heart racing anxiety of a nightmare unforgotten. Someone who always answered, no matter the time. But she realizes such a thing could never have happened. She has no one.

She punches the air. Taps the wall with her foot. Pretends that she’s kicking and landing hits on her unseeable enemy. She likes to think she’s winning. Likes to imagine pretty blue blood on the floor, messing up the carpet.

Always blue blood too. She doesn’t know why. Last she checked, every human she’s ever had to beat has had red blood. Even herself. 

When the energy burns through her and out of her blood stream, she collapses on the couch. Passes back out. Doesn’t dream of any golden piercing eyes. Doesn’t see the monsters or the people or the crashes. Just envisions blissful blackness.

The sun assaults her eyes by late morning. Forces her sluggish limbs to move. It’s the weekend. A time for her, herself, and she. No need for any rush.

She rubs at her hair and looks out the living room window. Creep man is down at the mailbox again. Not looking at her though.

Good. He knows how to listen.

She tugs on sweatpants. Puts her jacket on over her tank top. Makes sure it’s zipped so she doesn’t have to put a bra on. Grabs her keys and heads downstairs.

A perfect time to get the mail.

She doesn’t acknowledge him at first. Opens her mailbox like any other day. She can feel him watching her. 

“Is it better up close?” She asks, closing her mailbox and looking at him. “Don't have to strain your eyes to look.” His lips tug into a smirk. She thinks about giving him a spin but squashed the thought. 

“Never had to before.” His eyes are that strange mix of honey-brown again. “You almost always put your face right against the glass. Had to get a better look at me, if I had to guess.” He moves away, starts walking back to their shared building. She follows a few steps behind.

“Would that constitute you as the creeper, Vers?”

“What..” Suddenly her mouth is dry. Her heart beats hard against her rib cage. Her blood runs cold. “What did you call me?”

His face gives away no secrets, if there is any. He slowly points to the mailbox behind her. 

“Is that not your name?” 

The ‘Dan’ part in ‘Danvers’ has rubbed away. She guesses that’s what happens when you use paper and a marker to replace the last tenants name. She should’ve got the dumb metal plaque but honestly she didn’t think she’d be here for this long.

“Oh. Uhm.” It still doesn’t bring her relief. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” It feels wrong. “You can call me that but..” she hesitates, wonders if she should move to shake his hand. “My name is Carol.”

He turns back away from her. Makes his way back into the building. Only calls out to her before the door shuts.

“Vers suits you more.”

Vers runs through her head for days following the encounter. Makes her itch, and sick, and  _ wrong _ . Her name is Carol. Always has been. Always will be. She knows this.

So then  _ why  _ does Vers make her want to scream? To tug and rip and destroy? Makes her heart ache? Causes tears to well in her eyes at the thought?

It’s an honest mistake. Not like he would’ve known her name. She had never given it to him before. Only met him days prior. It makes sense that he would think that’s her name.

Why did he sound so smug when he said it? Why did it sound so horrible and yet so right with his voice? Like it belonged on his lips long before they had met. Like he practiced saying it for a milenia? Like he knew how to drive her  _ mad  _ with it?

His eyes and voice play on an endless loop in the dreams. Piercing and mocking. It’s his voice over the comms in her helmet when she crashes. His eyes she sees when she wakes in the hospital after too much blood loss from a head injury. 

Again, with a jolt she wakes. Gasping for breath. Again, her blood thrums under her skin. She can feel the energy crackle at her fingertips, begging to be released.

She punches the air too hard. Kicks the wall with too much force. Leaves too big of a dent. Causes too loud of a sound.

She feels the door downstairs shut through the floor. Hears his footsteps as he walks up the stairs. Knows that he’ll knock on her door.

She still jumps when he does knock. Knows she shouldn’t answer the door. But does anyway. 

“Are you alright?” His eyes, more golden than honey again, are furrowed with concern. Her nod is enough and his eyes examine the small room. “I wondered how big it would be.” He can see the dent she’s left from the doorway. She tries to block his view, moves the door to shut as much as was allowed in polite conversation.

“Thank you for checking on me.” She’s surprised by the calm in her voice. “Now, please, go away.” She moves to shut the door entirely but he catches it.

“If-“ he pauses like he’s unsure if he should continue. She opens the door slightly, enough where he takes his hand away. “If you ever need somebody to help you through them.”

She understands his offer. A smile tugs at her lips. It’s enough and he moves completely away from her door.

She locks it quickly behind her and slides down the door. Her skin is buzzing again. Wanting to be touched. To be comforted. To be fought. _os_

And for a moment, it feels like she’s missed an opportunity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I can never get Yon right. I only did see the movie one time though.  
> Better go see it again.
> 
> Also, I forget to update the tags. I apologize. I’m terrible at knowing what should and shouldn’t be tagged (other than majority triggering stuff - I can do that). 
> 
> Also! I started making a playlist! Any songs to suggest?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a shorter one because I find myself writing this before I go to sleep and I am too tired to do more tonight.
> 
> Again lazy and didn’t check spelling or grammar.

The crash. The eyes. The pain. Repeat.

Crash, eyes, bam, repeat.

Crash, eyes, whispers, crunch, repeat.

Crash, eyes, shout, thunk, repeat.

Crash, eyes, scream, snap, repeat.

The same thing for days on end. She wakes up in a cold sweat, mouth twisted in a silent scream. Heart beating so rapidly it might as well run its own marathon. Fists aching to punch, tear, rip, destroy. Shaking, always shaking.

Her body is in autopilot when it walks out her door. She has half a mind to shut the door. She forgets her keys, doesn’t lock anything. Rips downstairs in her tank top. No shoes. No pants. It doesn’t matter.

She only recognizes what she’s done when she’s knocking on his door.

The panic grips her then. Not sure why she’d go to him in a daze, barefoot and underdressed. Like her body was running on instinct.

She can hear him, hear his heavy footsteps as he gets close to the door. Fear and excitement grip her. She steels her eyes, sets her jaw. Her fists curl at her side. The only true give away to how she’s feeling. 

He doesn’t seem surprised at all when he enters the door. He seems quite pleased, lips curled into a smirk and a smug look in his eye. Like he knew something like this would happen. 

“Another nightmare?” He leans against his door frame, the loosely tied robe falling apart to reveal his chest. She lets herself look for a moment, hunger for a moment, and then meets his gaze. She nods, afraid her voice will betray her. Her fists still curl at her sides.

“Come with me.”

Even in the murky basement of the building, Carol isn’t afraid. She ought to be, she knows. Being with a strange man she hardly knows in the early morning hours. 

He positions himself in the middle of the room. Looks at her with questioning eyes. She looks at him, around the room.

“Is doing laundry what’s supposed to help me?” She motions to the only other thing in the large room. The washing and dryer sit in the corner. “Because honestly the folding is so stressful.”

He says nothing. His eyes are hard. Takes long steps towards her. Shoulders squared.

“Hit me.” It’s a command. She crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Kinky.” He doesn’t laugh. “I’ll take a pass for now. The laundry is looking more appealing.”

“Damnit, Vers.” Her head snaps to him. “Just hit me already.”

He moves so fast. Crowded into her space, hands tugging at her shoulder. 

All at once, he’s on his back. Breath knocked out of him from the flip and the concrete floor. She looks down at her hands, stunned.

“How did..” She has no time to finish her sentence. He’s back up, in her space again. Throwing his fists, trying to land a hit. She dodges them, blocks them, returns them.

When she lands her first punch, square into his ribs, it feels like home. She breaks into a smile, feels for the first time at ease in her skin. His eyes are wild, golden, and he’s beaming at her.

“There you are.” Voice low, he stalks towards her again. She has no time to be confused by what he means. He launches back into it, trips her up with his feet.

Crash, crunch.

Her nose feels broken. She hopes it isn’t. 

She rolls over into her back. Stares at the ceiling a moment, gaining her bearings. He has his hand out to her. She grabs it, feels that spark, and lets him pull her to her feet.

He’s staring at her funny. Eyes fixated right where she thinks he nose may have broken. His lip twitches, looks beyond pissed. His jaw sets. She rubs her hand over her nose, pulls back and sees her blood.

Brilliant and red.

“Oh shit.” She tips her head backs. Tries to stop the flow. She can feel it run down her chin, drip down onto her tank top. 

The grip on her arm hurts more than her nose. Bruising. Angry. Burning. She’s ready to punch him, even with her nose gushing. Then he brushes his fingers across her clavicle. Smudges the blood that’s there.

The electricity scorches through her. Sparks where he touches, touched. Burning in the pit of her stomach, threatens to spill lower. Sucks her tongue between her teeth. Curls her fists and fight against the feeling.

“What are you doing?” When she speaks, it cuts him out of whatever trance he was in. He instantly pulls away, takes massive steps away from her. Too much distance.

“It’s ruined your shirt, Vers.” Low and weak. Nothing like the commands her gave earlier. 

“Yeah.” She looks down, tries to see how bad the damage to her clothing is. Thinks to correct her name but lets him call her that for now. “Blood will do that.”

His eyes never leave the spot on her clavicle. Fixated. Yet full of something Carol doesn’t understand. Is it anger? Is it sadness? Or is it something else entirely. She wants to know so bad, wants to push him for an answer, but is afraid of what she’ll find.

“Did it help?” He steps closer into her space. “The sparring?”

She nods her head yes. He swallows thickly.

“If you ever need it, don’t be afraid to ask.”

He practically runs up stairs. Away from her. Away from her mess. Away from whatever he was feeling. Desperate for an ounce of control. She hears his door slam shut.

She centers herself. Breath in, breath out. Follows behind in his steps, up further than him. Let’s herself in. Locks the door behind her. Crashes into the surface of the couch.

And doesn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next time to see if I can remember to have Carol ask for his name.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s shorter, I’m sorry!
> 
> I’ve got some wicked carpel tunnel in my hand.
> 
> Again, spelling and grammar because I’m too lazy.

It’s weird how musky basements are in the summer heat. So damp and unpleasant. The concrete looks like it hasn’t been dry in ages. There’s a little sprout growing. The only color the basement has besides the bright fluorescent white.

The machine ate her fifth quarter, like always. She fishes in her pocket for one more. Places it neatly in its slot. Then jams the quarter into the machine. The dryer whirls to life.

This part always sucks. She has to sit down in the damn basement for an hour and ten minutes because someone keeps taking her clothes out of the damn dryer. Whoever it is places them neatly in a pile of mess on top, always nice and soggy for her.

The creaking of the stairs draws her attention away from cursing the dryer bandit. She hoists herself onto of the dryer. No one is going to touch it while she’s around.

Its weird how she recognizes his bare feet but she does.

“Are you the one who keeps my clothes in such a nice, soggy, mess every weekend?”

If he is, he doesn’t show it. He does smile at her though while walking down the steps.

“That would just be impolite, wouldn’t it?” His basket looks heavy in his arms. It sounds heavy when the metal of the washer reverberates again it. “No, it’s not me.”

He ruffles through his pockets for a moment. Finds his change and places it neatly in the quarter slots. Then starts dumping his clothes into the washer bin. Carol has half a thought to take one of his quarters.

“Besides, I wouldn’t want to get beaten up over laundry.” He pours the detergent in, measuring it perfectly to the line. “And I enjoy doing it.”

“Who enjoys doing laundry?” She asks, cocks her eyebrow. “Folding socks is the worst.”

“It’s enjoyable when I can do it my way without being scrutinized.” The lid of the washer shits hard. He pushes the quarters in and starts the load. “My ground captain always enjoyed making an example out of it.”

She sits straighter. Perks up at the mention of a captain.

“You’re Air Force?” She wonders if she sounds as excited as she feels. He nods, lips curling into a smile. She laughs, crosses her arms. “Should’ve known you were a flyboy.”

“What do you know about us flyboys?” His voice sounds offended but his eyes and smile give away his true feelings.

“Way too much.” She slides off the dryer and clicks her heels together. “I don’t know if I should salute you or not, commander.”

“Air Force too?” He mimicked her movements, click his heels together.

“The sky’s no limit.” She can’t help the smile when she says the saying. “Nothing as impressive as a commander, though.” She hops back onto the dryer.

“It’s just a title.” His eyes never leave her face. “Some of the best men and woman I’ve worked with deserved more than that.”

She half smiles at that. It’s meant to be a compliment but it feels like a smack in the face. She hasn’t been Air Force is years. Wants desperately to be but isn’t allowed back. She can’t look him in the eyes.

“I haven’t been in the sky for so long.” His voice sounds small. She looks at him, brows furrowed. “I left a few years back.”

“Why?” She leans forward, into his space. Scootches so she’s half sitting on the washing machine.

“I lost someone.” Golden again, burning through her. “Someone I was too close too.” His jaw tightens. “Jeopardize the entire mission because of it.”

Her chest is too tight. She’s trying to match his gaze but it pierced through her. It feels like a fight she was never meant to win, but she won’t give up that easy. She leans back again, needs to get away from the intensity.

“I’m sorry.” Only then does he look away. Closes his eyes and breathes for a moment. “I shouldn’t have gotten into it.”

“No, it’s okay.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. She clears it, tries to get control over it. “I haven’t flown in years either.”

He brings his gaze back to her. Asks wordlessly for her to continue. She looks forward. Feels her jaw clenching at the thought. Fists curling into themselves in her lap.

“I crashed.” The ground, soaked in blue, flashes before her eyes. The popping of the fire. The smell of fuel and something else. “I don’t remember much. Just know I can’t fly anymore.”

He nods, understands.

“We don’t belong down here, Vers.”

She agrees more than he knows. Laughs to herself. Fists unclench in her lap. Half smiles and meets his eyes. The sentiment blocks any feelings of wrongness with the nickname.

“No,” Leans into his space again. Relaxes her shoulders and lets out a breath. “We don’t.”

She lets herself be drawn into him. Matches his breathes. Falls into his body’s rhythms while they sit in silent understanding.

The obnoxious beeping of the dryer pulls her out of her trance. She clears her throat and hops off the dryer.

“Ah, yes, well.” She scrapes her basket against the floor when she pulls it in front of the dryer opening. Scoops all her clothes unceremoniously into the basket. “I’ll see you later.”

She picks the basket up and hoists it under her arm. Gives him a smile and turn around. She’s halfway up the stairs when it hits her.

“Hey,” She calls down to him. “I never got your name.”

“It’s Yon.” He calls after her.

“What kind of a name is that?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer. The basket is too heavy.

His name is heavier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about the Air Force just fyi.
> 
> Also I feel like I should mention that I have no plan for this. I just kinda write what’s on my mind. So I apologize if things don’t make sense sometimes. I’m usually just making it up as I go.
> 
> Yon manipulation due to knowing Carols past woohoo.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven’t learned my lesson. This has not been spelled checked or checked for Proper grammar.

It wreaks havoc on her brain. Tears through her mind. Rips through her memories. Calling calling calling. She knows it. Has said it. Has wanted to taste it.

But she can’t find it.

That name, forever entrained into her mind. But why? Like he took a hot poker and branded her with it. She can almost feel it burn through the back of her skull.

When she reaches the safety of her own hovel, she throws the basket. Lets the clothes land in messy heaps. Her body slides down the door.

She tries to breathe against this feeling. One in, one out. Two in, two our. Three in, three out. Four -

Her throat closes up. The tears well in her eyes. She claws at her throat. Needs to breathe. Needs to have control over her own body.

When they spill, and the sob dislodges from her throat, she is ashamed. She can’t control this one thing.

Couldn’t control the crash. Couldn’t control her discharge. Couldn’t control the nightmares. Can’t control her own damn body.

What feels like hours is only minutes. She slowly comes down from the feeling. Finally can breathe. One in, one our. Two in, two out. Three in, three out. Four in, four out. Five in, five out.

Everything is weak when she manages to stand. Her legs feel like jelly. Her head pounds, crippled from the pressure of crying. She feels weak. Mind and body.

Yet, she feels light. The weight of her lost life lessened just enough. It’ll come back. It always does. But she feels the best she has in a while. Ironic, considering she can hardly move right.

Her couch is slowly becoming her best friend. Her legs can only take her that far. Give way when she’s close enough to land without injury.

Carol sleeps, even with the sun shining bright into her living room. Dreamless and heavy.

She wakes again. She knows she’s slept too long. The darkness of the night blanketing the living room. The moon, like a spotlight, shines down on her.

It’s the only thing she has a good view of. The gutter of the apartment building blocks most of the stars. She’s thought to rip it away too many times to count.

She sits up, gives her legs a minute to adjust. They’ve gained some strength back. Still, they are heavy from her rest. Not ready to carry her weight.

She props her body against the back of the couch cushion. Tries to position her head better. Her neck aches in this position but she wants to see the stars. The gutter still blocks her view.

She decides that she’s given her legs enough time to adjust. Stands up to be in the center of the small living room. Basks in the moonlight glow for a moment. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

She pulls boots on before she really thinks about anything. Heads down the stairway of her apartment and out the back door. Steps down the outside stairs and into the only grassy area.

It’s cool outside now. The scorching summer sun no longer beating down on the earth. She takes a few steps away from the patio area. Stares up into the sky.

Wants to be far away from this mess of problems she has. Wants to soar and fly and never come back. Let that inky black expanse fill her. Burn among the stars, flare up like a supernova and die brilliantly.

She lays in the grass. The dew of a new morning wets her shirt. The grass kisses the back of her thighs. She breathes and keeps watching the night sky.

She reaches for a star. Closes one eye and pretends she’s touching it. Can almost feel the burning heat in her finger.

She yearns for that touch. Wishes to feel it under her skin. Wants to feel the power thrum under her skin. Burn through her veins and outwards. Feel the electric touch of uncontained energy wash over her.

But mostly she wants to know why she can imagine the feeling so strongly.

It feels like, if she concentrated hard enough, she could make a star burn through her. Right down to the very tip of her finger that is touching the star.

She puts her hand back down and onto her stomach. Lets the feeling of disappointment wash over her.

She breathes, centers herself with the help of the stars. Counts them until her eyes close again.

The sound of the door closing jolts her out of her trance.

“It’s me.” A whisper. Spoken softly as not to spook the beast. She smiles to herself. Closes her eyes again.

“Is that suppose to make me feel better?” She lets the amusement flow through her voice. She can feel him step beside her and then sit down.

“Does it?” He asks and then mimics her position. Lays down and looks up at the stars.

“Yes.”

She lets her hand slide off her stomach and between them at her side. His fingers brush over her own. She can feel her pulse jump at the contact. Her fingers itch to intertwine with his.

“You understand what it’s like.” She whispers now. “To yearn for something.”

“I yearn.” It’s low. Spoken from a different place than what she meant. When she looks to him, his eyes swirl with something dark and dangerous.

Heat shoots into her belly. Floods through her system. Flares her nerve endings up. Her heart races, pounds against her rib cage. Everything about him is dangerous.

And she’s always liked danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t like anything else I typed after that. I apologize cause I know it doesn’t feel quiet finished. But it’s 2:15 in the morning and I am tired.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry (not sorry) for not checking spelling and grammar.

She wakes in her bedroom. Feeling rested for the first time in a long time, although extremely sweaty. She thinks over the events in the early morning grass. Wonders when she fell asleep. How she got back to her room. If he had brought her back to her bed.

How she wishes she could’ve been awake to feel his touch. Also wanted to be awake enough to punch him in the throat for carrying her and entering her home. If she had locked the door, would he have left her? Or would he have brought her to his apartment? 

She shivers at the thought. Would she have snuck out? Pretended like it never happened? Made herself some coffee? Pretended like it was her place too?

She wonders what his apartment looks like. Is it clean? Everything kept in its place and organized? He doesn’t seem the type to have personal mementos out for display. Probably hidden away somewhere, safe, only for his eyes. 

Her stomach sinks. Does that mean he’s seen hers? Did he stroll through her apartment, looking at her personal photographs and memorabilia? She skin itches, legs restless. She throws the covers of her blankets back.

She trods into the kitchen. Scratches the back of her head while trying to brew her coffee. The maker does nothing. Doesn’t pump out the black sludge or even show that it’s on. She hits it a few times in the side, wonders if it’s finally died. Nothing happens.

When she looks to see what time it is, because honestly she doesn’t have the time to deal with this bullshit, the oven clock isn’t lit. She taps at where the numbers should be. Nothing happens. 

She walks to the kitchen light. Flips the switch. Nothing.

She looks out the window. Wonders what the hell could be going on. He’s down at the mailboxes. Looking up into her window life before. Instead of just staring, he waves her down.

She rolls her eyes. Turns away from the window and strips out of the shirt she wore yesterday. She walks into her bedroom and finds a red tank top with a star plasted in the middle. It’ll do. She shimmies out of her dirty shorts, finds some clean new ones, and puts them on. 

She walks back out into the living room and looks down at him from the other window. He’s look away from her, out towards the direction of the road. She quickly tugs on some shoes and grabs her keys. She locks the door and makes her way downstairs. 

“Is the power out?” She shout asks the moment the door opens. He points towards the community pool. Normally empty, the pool is now full of the apartment’s residents. Her eyebrows raise. That pool hasn’t been used since she moved in.

“They’re trying to stay cool without the air conditioning.” He wipes her arm across his forehead. “Honestly, it would be a good idea if that pool wasn’t disgusting.” 

“Desperate times.” He acknowledges her comment with a raise of his brow. “You got a better idea?” She raises her brow to him. Mischief flashes across his eyes and he smiles.

“Want to find out?” He doesn’t give her the chance to respond, starts walking towards the covered parking spaces. She follows behind him. He stops in front of one of the spaces, motions for her to come closer.

It’s an absolutely stunning motorcycle. A brilliant green with a eight-pointed silver star painted on the side. One helmet hangs off the grip, the other rest on the cowl seat. Carol whistles.

“She’s beautiful.” She approaches the bike, runs her fingers along the star. It looks familiar. It pulls at her heart, a memory not always filled with joy. She traces each point, lets the feeling wash over her. When she feels in control again, she steps away and looks at him.

“If you’re showing me this,” She comes into his space. “It’s obviously because you want me to drive.” Her lips pull into a teasing smile. His eyebrows shoot up.

“No,” He folds his arms in front of his chest. “It most certainly does not mean I want you to drive, Vers.” She clicks her tongue, moves back towards the bike.

She runs her fingers over the leather of the seat. Caresses it, enjoys the bite of it. Her eyes jump up to stare into Yon’s. She challenges him wordlessly when she grabs the helmet. She toys with it in her hands for a moment.

It matches the bike in color. Instead of a star, however, there is a silver stripe that meets in a point between the brows. This too looks familiar. She runs her fingers over the stripe. Can almost see a version of it that was her own.

When she looks up to him, he’s watching her with an intensity in his eyes. He half smiles at her. She takes that as an invitation and places the helmet over her head. He swallows hard once she does.

It’s hypnotizing. The movement of his throat. She shakes her head, lets out a shaky breath. She won’t let him distract her from her goal. That goal being to drive this beautiful machine.

Her hand finds the grip she took the helmet off of. She moves her legs, settles to straddle the motorcycles seat. She sits back, challenges him again with her eyes. He moves closer to the bike, waiting. She holds out her hand.

“Keys?” He hesitates and she raises her eyebrow at him. Wiggles her fingers. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and digs into his pocket.

“I only suggested this,” He drops the keys into her hand. “Because I thought  _ I  _ would be driving.”

She puts the key in the ignition and turns it. Moves to put it in neutral and flips the start switch. Pulls the clutch in towards her and pushes the starter button in. The bike whirls to life, thunderous and powerful. Revs it once for good measure.

“Yeah, well,” She pats the helmet that rests on the cowl seat. “That was your first mistake.” She bites her lips, tries to stop the smile from breaking out of her face.

He rolls her eyes again. Moves to the back of the bike and puts the helmet on. It mimics her own almost perfectly. Like a uniform and they were the only two on the team. He lets her back the bike out first. When she’s out of the parking spot, he straddles the cowl seat.

She can feel his chest press into her back. Her heart leaps into her throat. She revs the engine on accident, suddenly nervous. His hands wrap around her stomach, clasp together at her core. His hands are hot at her stomach. Her throat feels dry.

“Go on, Vers.” Low and dangerous again, right in her ear.

She looks to the road ahead, sets her jaw, and pulls the throttle.

For the first time in years, it feels like she’s flying again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find out next time where they go a driving.
> 
> Also, totally inspired by the nice blackout back in 2003. We were in the pool for two days because it was too hot to be in the apartment. Had to let it cool out during the day so you could attempt to sleep in them at night. Although people did sleep at the pool, they had some nasty mosquito bites.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again no spelling or grammar checks.

The feeling was strange. Like pieces from two seperate puzzles that clicked together, even though they were never meant to. Never forming a coherent picture but allows whoever working on the puzzles to feel a sense of giddiness. Never meant to fit but they do, look they’re cut from the same cast.

That same giddiness held tight to her as she sped through half empty streets. Tightened whener Yon’s grip tightened. It felt right, like coming home after being gone for far too long. Like this was how she was meant to be, speeding through with him by her side. Keeping her grounded in herself.

She had a place she wanted to share with him. A place she found herself drawn back to whenever life got too hard. Whenever she needed to ground herself and breathe. Her body followed her wants, taking side streets until they hit a dirt road.

The motorcycle had no trouble climbing the hills, no matter how steep. She followed it, had no issue retracing the path she’s driven hundreds of times. She carefully took the bike down a dirt path, much slower than her trip through the paved streets of the city.  Trees blanketed the path in cool shade, tunneling light down through it from the other side.

She stopped just before the exit from the tunnel of trees. Kicked down the kickstand, stopped the bike, and stood. She took her helmet off and placed it on the grip like it once was. He followed suit, placing his helmet on the cowl.

“I come here sometimes,” She starts walking towards the opening. He follows behind her, watches her back. “When I need a place to myself.”

The view always astonishes her. Takes her breathe for a moment. Reminds her of the beauty that cities like hers can hold. Reminds her what it’s like to see the world from a higher viewpoint. So close to the sky, she can imagine herself soaring again.

“It’s beautiful.” He sounds just as impressed, comes to stand beside her. She sits down, legs crossed in front of her, and pats the grass beside her. He follows her lead, mimics her position.

“As close to the sky as I can get.” She reaches her hand up. Wishes she could touch the clouds and play with them. Make her own in the remnants that remain. 

He stays silent for a moment, watches her movements and her face. He breaks the silence by asking the question she’s been dreading.

“What shot you down?”

She winces, hand coming back down to grip the grass beside her. She can’t look at him for fear of losing herself, losing her control.

“I don’t know.” She sighs, her shoulders moving with the exhale. “I can’t remember.”

“Can’t remember?”

“Yeah.” Her lips purse. “They said I was poisoned,” She clenched her fist in the grass. “Or that I knocked my head. Something like that.”

“Your cargo was poisonous?”

“That’s what they say,” She brings her hand into her lap. Looks down at it and traces the veins with her fingers. “On the account I had blue blood.”

She can see from the corner of her eye that his body pulls tight. With one wrong pluck, it seems like he could snap. She wants to look, to reassure, and she can’t figure out why. She wants to stop talking but thinks he wouldn’t like that either.

“A combination of poisonous something or other,” She leans back into the grass, rests her head against the crook of her arm. “And a hard landing.” She can almost see the crash playing out in the sky. The brilliant orange from a fire, or the filling black of smoke.

Only when she leans back does she get the courage to look at him. His spine is needle straight. His gaze seems far away, looking past the city scape. His jaw is set so tight she can’t help but wonder if his teeth hurt from the clenching.

As quickly as his tension started, it stopped. It moved under his muscles, still simmering under the surface but held in with an iron grip. He had remarkable control. He moved to lay next to her, rest his head on the crook of his arm too.

“You got to hear mine.” She says to the sky. “What about you? What shot you down?”

“I lost someone.”

Only then does she look. He doesn’t meet her gaze. Stares up into the bright expanse of blue.

“She came onto the force and I knew she could be better than all of us.” A small smile breaks across his lips. ”With my training, she would be the best she could be.” He laughs.

“But she was so stubborn. Always quick and snappy and  _ mouthy _ .” She can see the memories playing through his head. “Ignored parts of my training because they never suited her.” 

“You loved her.” The realization steals the breath from her.

“I was too soft.” Only then does he look at her. His eyes full of regret. “I failed in my training of her.” A sad smile comes across his face. “Or did she fail me? It’s hard to know.”

“She left the Force on her own. It was not pleasant.” His eyes, so melancholy, turn hard. 

“Even then I wanted her back.” He looks away again, back to the sky. “The path she chose, it wouldn’t end well. For either of us.”

Carol swallows hard against the lump in her throat. Suddenly aware of how heavy she feels. Her heart feels his regrets, beats to the same tune. She has nothing to regret but it feels like she should.

“Did you ever find her again?”

He looks at her for a long time. Eyes filled with something she didn’t understand. His smile is sad.

“That woman is gone.” His gaze is so intense, she swallows again against the lump in her throat. “But,” He turns away from her. His eyes harden, jaw sets.“That won’t stop me from trying to bring her back.”

“What if she doesn’t want to come back?” The question comes out whisper quiet. He takes a deep breath, releases it, tries to keep himself under control.

“She has to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to decide if they should have a fun conversation next time on the hill or not.
> 
> Might be a bit for the next part cause I’m not sure where to go yet :)
> 
> Also my finger keeps cramping mighty fierce!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> I'm very bad a tagging. Everything below is consensual (as consensual as not knowing your true identity can be)  
> PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE TAGGED
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

They left the hill top that day with a better understanding of each other. Carol left the hill top that day feeling even hollower on the inside. Her understanding and control on her situation slipping further from her grasp.

He spoke that day like he was talking about  _ her _ . Like he knew her in some way before everything. Like she was the one that he had loved. Like he was the one who took her, helped her gain her wings, flew with her until something shot her down. He said it himself though.

If it was her, it isn’t her any longer.

Still, that doesn’t stop her heart from aching. It doesn’t stop her dreams from morphing, twisting into something unrecognizable. Filled with images and places she’s never seen, certain that they could never exist. 

He plays a major role in all of them now. Sometimes, he’s the admirable commander. Someone she yearns for due to his strategic nature and camaraderie. Sometimes, he’s the only friend she’ll have in an empty room. Sometimes,she yearns to be his lover, can feel the desire in her blood. Sometimes, he’s her enemy and watches her with fury and pride in his golden eyes. Sometimes, he’s the one holding a weapon that resembles a gun and points it at her without remorse.

It’s been days and her mind cannot stop conjuring him into her dreams and nightmares. So when she wakes again one night, days following their trip, she lets her feet carry her. She doesn’t think of the consequence. Doesn’t think of anything when she walks down the stairs. Doesn’t think of anything when she softly knocks on his door.

He’s at his door quickly, opening it for her with little fanfare. He’s wearing something similar to the first night she did this. A robe that exposes his chest, neatly highlights the dog tag around his neck. He’s rubbing his neck, eyebrows raised and waiting for her to say anything.

“Nightmares?” He asks and stop rubbing his neck. She wants to tell him yes, wants to tell him no. Wants to reach for him and rub her hands on his skin. Feel him, the heat of his skin against her fingers. Wants to make sure he’s real.

“No - I - Yes.” She nods her head. Hopes he can see her eyes so he knows she isn’t alright. His head tilts slightly.

“Want to fight?” His eyes are weary.

“No.” His hands twitch at her side. He looks her up and down before moving away from the door. A silent permission given. She walks past him and into the dimly lit apartment.

The color hurts her head. Doesn’t help the feelings she experiencing. It’s the green that’s been plaguing her the last few days. Like his bike. It screams at her, reminds her of something she can not remember. Her hands come up and grip her head.

He’s in her space then, reach for her hands. His grip is warm, the comfort of a friend. His thumbs run over her knuckles, gently coaxing. She brings her hands down , doesn’t pull them away from him.

“I don’t-” She swallows around the sorrow in her throat. Tries to get her emotions under her grasp again. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” She searches his eyes, looking for anything.

“I keep  _ remembering _ things that can’t be possible.” She can hear the frenzy in her own words. The panic tucked neatly between them. “Impossible things.” His hands move from hers and grip her shoulders. His thumbs rub gentle circles into them. The tension in her shoulders starts to dissipate.

“Memories that aren’t mine.” She lets herself go in his eyes, finds a calm within them she hasn’t felt in years. “Can’t be mine.” Her voice is calmer, more under her control.

“Why can’t they?” His voice is quiet. She doesn’t know how to answer. His hands come up to cradle her face. His pinkie runs over her lips. 

“You knew me.” Her lips get stuck on his finger and for a moment she thinks to suck it into her mouth. “I knew you.” His eyes flicker down to where his finger is running over her mouth. When his gaze meets hers again, it is filled with hunger.

“How?” His moves inches closer. 

“As my commander.” She follows his movements, moves closer. Her eyelids feel heavy. “As a friend.” She lets him tilt her head, enjoys the warmth of his breath on her lips. His hands move so his thumb is pushing against her lips. It rubs gently on her bottom lip.

“Did you know me like this?” His eyes flicker from her mouth to her eyes. 

“I wanted to.” 

He brings his arm down to her waist to pull her closer and closes the gap between them. His lips are soft against her own. Warm in the way she’s been craving. He presses his fingers into her jaw, makes her lips part for him. He’s careful in his movements, afraid to scare her. His tongue is slow against hers, savoring the moment.

When he pulls away from her, it’s with a sigh of satisfaction. Like he’s been waiting for this moment. His eyes search hers, wants to know if she feels it too. She smiles up at him, breathes out a laugh. He does the same and brings their foreheads together.

He’s quick to devour her lips again, more incessant than the last. Confident that he won’t frighten her away. Pulls her even closer to him, presses the hard lines of his body into hers. He pulls away again from her and his eyes are wild.

His look floods her body with heat. Her blood rushes through her veins, down into her chest and between her legs. She bites at her lower lip, wonders how bad of an idea it could be.

When he kisses her again, she lets him crowd her backwards. Her body finds a wall and is pressed firmly into it. He’s heavy against her thigh, the thin robe he’s wearing the only space between them. He moves away from her lips, kisses the soft spots on her neck.

His hand traces her side before slipping under her loose sleep shirt. He groans into her neck when his hand cups the swell of her breast. He moves away from her neck, looks her in the eyes. Her heart is pounding against her rib cage. 

His hand moves away from her breast and down to the hem of her shirt. His eyes search her, waiting. She gives him a nod, pulls his body back into her. Kisses and bites at the soft spots on his neck. Only moves away to allow him to pull the shirt of her head.

He groans, the vibrations welcome against her lips. Both his hands are warm against her chest, exploring her skin. She moans against his skin when his fingers rub the bud between them. She pulls away from his neck, looks up into his eyes. 

He kisses her hard again, helps pull her up so her legs wrap around his waist. Instantly moans into her mouth when the hardness of him rubs against her. Pulls away again, searches her eyes with less patience as before.

She doesn’t need to nod. She pushes his hips into him, enjoys the heat and friction it causes. 

“ _ Das't _ ” He’s as breathless as she feels. His eyes leave her, looks down to where she’s rubbing against him. He pushes his hips, meets her movements. 

“Fuck.” His eyes come back up to her, hungry for more. He carries her from the wall and pushes her down onto his couch. She lets her legs hang loosely on his hips.

He doesn’t move to continue their actions. He places both of his arms on either side of her head and looks at her. His hungry eyes roam her body. One of his hands moves from besides her head, down her body and stops at the seam of her shorts. She hurriedly shakes her head, moves her hands down to help. He catches her hands, presses them firmly against her side.

He leans forwards, brushes his nose against hers. His hand lets go of hers, moves past the seam of her shorts. Further down, gently skimming over the place she wants him most.

“If you don’t touch me now,” She’s still breathless. His eyebrows raise, a smile caught on his lips. “I’m going to leave.”

His tongue clicks and he shakes his head with a laugh. His hand moves away from her and back up to the top of her shorts. His fingers are hot against her skin.

“We can’t have that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this turned into what it did but   
> I do like it ;)  
> Also, this is probably as close to a sex scene I think I'll get? But yeah they bone.
> 
> _Das't_ is a swear word in Kree. Don't know what it means. Just know it is.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi!
> 
> PLEASE NOTE THE RATING CHANGE.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS SMUT YALL
> 
> Also I didn't re-read it to check my grammar and spelling.
> 
> Also I wanted this to be longer but I just can't do it cause I'm getting all frazzled. I don't know why but smut is one of the harder ones to do.

“So,” She rests her leg on either side of him, straddles his waist and sits softly against the hardness between his legs. She moves her hips, gently coaxes the spot between her own legs. His hands are warm against her hips, coaxes her to move faster against him. “What was her name?”

His hands still and his eyes snap to her own. She doesn’t stop her movement but slows so that the breath catches in her throat. “It doesn’t matter.”

He brings her hand up to his lips. Kisses the soft flesh of her palm. Brings her fingers into her mouth and gently sucks on them. Her hips stutter at the sensation, press more firmly into the hard flesh of him. He groans against her fingers and brings his other, empty, hand back to her hip. He’s trying to distract her and it almost works.

“No?” She stops, raises herself higher up with her knees and away from him. “She obviously meant something to you. Why wouldn’t it matter?” She leans down, her lips inches from his own. His eyes follow hers, distracted by the closeness of her. She brushes her lips against his own, teasingly. “You wearing her dog tag.”

She pulls away and sits back up. He follows suit, slides her down into the proper position on his lip when he does so. He rests his hand on the small of her back, rubs small circles into it. He kisses the side of her neck, nips and marks it.

“How do you know it’s hers?” He asks when he pulls away from her neck. Her eyes flicker to the tag but she can’t make out the name.

“Why would you wear your own?” Her hands skim down his chest, around the dog tag. ”Thinking of riding into glorious battle?”

“No,” His hand slides up her body, caresses the skin before finding her front. He massages her breast, rubs his thumbs softly across her nipple. The other hand moves downward, under her butt and pushes her upward. She allows her knees to move with motion, up just enough for him. “You’re the only one I’d ride into glorious battle.“ His hand reaches between them and grips himself. He guides himself into her, waits for her to get comfortable.

“Ughck,” She rolls her eyes, grinds her hips to take him deeper. His lips distract her from the stretch, marking her neck with nips and kisses. She sinks slowly down, moans softly with each inch.  “That was terrible.”

“It did work though.” She grinds against him, raises up slowly and loves the way it pulls a groan from his throat. His eyes are only looking at her, focused intently on her own.

“This’ll be the only time it works.” She laughs, puts her hands on his shoulders for better leverage. Brings her lips to his and runs her tongue along the seam. Asks for permission and he parts for her.

His brings his hands up. Caresses the back of her neck and head. Pushes her head even closer to deepen their kiss. Moves his hips to match her rhythm. She moans against him, pulls away to breathe.

He bites at her neck, presses his hand into the small of her back. Moves her hips faster against him. His other hand goes behind him, supports him as he lifts up his hips. Braces his heels into the softness of the bed. Presses harder into her, wants to be as close to her as he can.

“I want to feel you,” his tongue traces up her neck, ends at the shallow of her ear. “All of you.” He bites at her ear lobe. “Melt away in your core.” The hand at the small of her back moves to the back of her neck. Forces her to look into his eyes. “Feel the heat of you always.”

“That almost feels like a confession.” She whispers, a smug half smile on her lips. Her eyebrow quirks upwards, dares him to say anything. He doesn’t.

He pulls her forward again, kisses her hard. His lips move against her own with renewed passion, reverent against her own. His hand combs through her hair, tightens to hold her in place. Moves her head for better access.

He pulls away, brings their foreheads together. Looks at her with adoration.

She can’t pull her eyes away from him. His kiss full of worship and heavy with his confession. Her heart is full and light. Beating so hard against her chest, she can hear the blood in her ears.

The movement of his hips becomes erratic. Faster and without rhythm.

“I-“ He moans, hips catching for a moment. “Can I-?”

“Yes.” Her hand mimics his, grasps the back of his neck. Kisses his cheeks. Pulls away to look into his eyes. “Yes.”

The heat of him fills her. He bites into her neck, harder than before. She would punch him for it if it didn’t feel so _right_. She rocks his hips, enjoys the feel of him finishing inside her.

He pulls away from her neck, satisfied with the mark he’s left. Already blood pools under the surface, angry and red. She knows it’ll be purple before the night ends. She brings her fingers to feel it, enjoys the soreness it brings.

He looks so proud, content with his work. He kisses her once before turning his head. Exposing his neck to her. Instinct takes over and she noses the vein. Kisses along the blue vein.

“You will have me,” His breath is heavy, “Always.” His chest moves rapidly, exhausted. Somehow, she knows what he wants. Wants her to mark him like he marked her. Make him hers.

She pecks the vein and then moves back and away. His eyes are wild, questioning.

“If you want it,” She moves up and off his lap. Sits back just out of reach. She can see his breath catch at her words. Sees how he licks his lips when she moves her legs apart. “You are going to have to work for it”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely took the last line from [DeneseHumboldt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenseHumboldt/pseuds/DenseHumboldt) newest fanfic [Running Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711547/chapters/44379208)! It is literally amazing and I want all of you to read it. 
> 
> We are winding down to the end folks! I think there may be about 2 or 3 chapters left. Who knows anymore though.
> 
> Oh hey and I have a yonvers playlist on Spotify. Its called ”Never Together (Yonvers Playlist)”  
> I don’t like the name but hey that’s okay.


	10. Chapter 10

He has his hand on her shoulder, pressing her into him. His breathing is deep and Carol can’t help but be hypnotized by the movement of his chest. She woke up before him, knows that she should really be leaving. Something about this calm, the peacefulness of his sleeping face, makes her decide to stay.

She toys with the hair on his chest. Rubs her fingers in small circles, enjoys the feel of his skin. Loves to look at the beautiful purple blossoming on his neck. He absolutely radiates warmth, almost too hot for her at times. She finds she enjoys that about him too anyway.

The dog tag is the only cool thing on his chest and is a welcome feeling against her fingers. She runs her fingers over the tag and feels a sharp pressure against her finger tips.

The tag is blown in half. The part containing the first name missing. She wonders how the metal could’ve been blown into two. Runs her fingers over the name of the tag. Feeling it isn’t the same as seeing it, so he can’t get mad right?

Her blood runs cold. She retraces the lettering.

_V_

_E_

_R_

_S_

She pulls herself up further onto his chest and brings the dog tag to her face. She squints her eyes, tries to get a better view of the lettering. It’s the nickname he’s called her, written plainly in gunmetal.

She doesn’t realize he’s awake until he snatches the tag from her hands. His eyes are unnaturally gold, almost like they’re glowing. His expression is unreadable but he swallows hard. She realizes then, naked and sweaty, that she doesn’t know him as well as he knows her.

She rips the tag from his hand and breaks the chain holding it. She’s crouched above him faster than she realizes, having instinctually jumped into the position. When he moves to take the dog tag back from her, she presses her elbow into his neck, right into the bruise she’s made, and holds it there.

“Give that back.” He grits out against the pressure on his throat.

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” His jaw tightens but he doesn’t say anything. “Why should I give you back something that’s mine?” His eyes analyze the lines of her body before coming back to meet her own.

“It’s not yours.” He says. As quickly as she crouched above him, he flips them so her back presses into his chest. His arm wrapped around her neck. Tries to entwine his legs with her own. She kicks her legs, won’t let herself be wrapped into him. She flings the hand with the dog tag in it as far away from him as she can. Squeezes so hard, she can feel the metal edges digging into her skin.

He tries to reach it with the other hand. Leaves his ribs open. She elbows him hard, once and then twice. The arm around her neck loosens enough that she wiggles away from his grip.

She squirms, tries to get up off the bed. She steps one leg off but is too slow. He grabs her other ankle, knocks her off balance. The ground is hard against the palm of her hands and knees.

He’s quick to get on top of her, pins her back into the ground. He flattens both wrists against the carpet. She breathes heavy, tries to break his grip on her wrists.

“Get off of me.” The hand without the dog tag clenches into a fist. She squeezes so tightly that her hand pulses and feels familiarly warm. His eyes flicker to that fist before he pauses entirely, entranced by her fist. She doesn’t know what he’s looking at but she uses the distraction to her advantage.

She moves the dog tag so the sharp end is outward. Breaks through the grip on her wrist and up towards his face. The dog tag cuts into the flesh of his cheek. She thrusts her hips upward, knocks him off of her. She scrambles back into a crouching position by the closed bedroom door. Ready to run.

He’s turned away from her, hand touching the cut cheek. He covers it when he looks back to her. Eyes wild. Not filled with rage, not even anger. No. She thinks they’re filled with.. pride?

He moves his hand down his cheek, drags the welling blood and-

It’s blue.

In an instance, she knows it’s what her blood was. Knows that that must’ve been the color that flooded out of her veins. The poison. Or what she was told was poison.

“Wha-“ He crowds into her space, pushes her from her crouched position and into the bedroom door. The bloody hand comes up to her neck, traces the mark he left the night before. Paints her skin.

“It’s not mine either.” His breath ghosts across the exposed skin of her chest. “You know the women it belongs to?” His voice is low.

“My mother?” She spits back. He brings his hand back to the cut cheek, drags his fingers into the drying blood.

“Carol.” Her head snaps to attention. He’s never called her that. Feels like he’s scolding her.

His fingers dance around her collarbones. Drawing something that she doesn’t know. Marking her with his blood.

“You’re so much like her.” He drags his finger down the valley between her breasts. Comes back up to trace up her neck and to her chin. “But you’re Carol.”

She could scream. That name. It’s her name. It’s her dog tag. It’s her, it’s her. Just blown into two. Splintered into pieces. Her head spins, but her anger is clear against the onslaught of confusion. She goes to yell, to shout, anything but is stopped by his fingers in her tongue.

The blood is metallic and heavy. Coats and fills her mouth. Familiar. Right.

She fights against that feeling. Pushing his hand away from her mouth. Clenches her fist. Warm and ready and-

A yellow purple flame burns small around her fist. Not strong enough to sustain itself. Even weaker to her surprise. It burns out as quickly as it came.

His hand finds that fist. Holds it tightly.

“The women it belonged to, her name was Vers.” He lifts her fist, unravels it to clench it between his own. Like a handshake. It feels so familiar. “An aspiring soldier of the Kree,” He squeezes her hand. “My protégée,” He releases his grip, brings her fingers to his mouth. Kisses her knuckles. “The carrier of my blood.” Kisses the tips. “A star born from the Kree.”

She smells the antiseptic before it comes to her. Or what she thinks is antiseptic. Can see the sterile white room. Picture with perfect clarity the tube running blue blood into her.

Sees him, hunched in a chair by her cot. Sees him, relieved to see her awake. Was that fake? A lie to convince her of her place? Or had she always been there? Did he save her or damn her?

“What happened to me?” Blue energy floods her vision. Burns into her very being. A memory.

“You killed yourself.” He opens her palm, rubs it against the bloodied cheek. “Sacrificed your body to be reborn.” Kisses the point of her pulse. He looks into her eyes.

She sees him then. Like in her nightmares. Staring down at her, past the tip of the weapon in his hand. He’s wearing green armor, a eight tipped star plastered in the center of his chest. His eyes dare her to do anything, try to oppose him. Try to fight him.

“No,” She pulls her hand away. “It was you.”

Sees her mentor in the ground. Shot by him. Taken down by him. Hears her mentors voice in her ear. Can’t remember the words she said with her dying breath. Knows they were significant. Knows she had to stop whatever the man had shot her mentor down for.

“No, no,” His hands come up to her face. Cradles her cheeks. “I _saved_ you. Your body was weak. It would’ve killed you.” He comes to kneel above her knees. “I made you _strong_.”

“You _killed_ me.” She snarls. The hands cradling her face run nervously down her neck and back up. He licks his lips. “And then molded me into a weapon to _use_.” She tears his hands away from her face.

“Please,” He hands fall onto her thighs. He sounds small. His head bowed. “I need you. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

“You don’t remember.” He looks up to her. “You and I were the only ones who mattered. We were inseparable.” He moves forward, as close to her as he can, hovers over her thighs.

“I was a fool to believe that being your commander would be enough.” He doesn’t move to touch her. The air feels electric between them. “A fool to believe I could live without touching you.”

“Like I could live,” His breath mingles with her own. It’s hard to breathe like this. With him so close. “Without knowing what it feels like to touch the sun.” His eyes flicker between her lips and her eyes. “And to burn in your orbit.”

He brings his lips to hers. Devours them. Crowds into her. His arms brace on either side of her head. Tries to get better leverage so he doesn’t touch her. He pulls away only slightly. Only enough to see her reaction.

She wants to kiss him. To move him to where she wants him most. To run her hands down his back. Feel the heat of skin. Run her fingers through his short hair. Instead, she pulls his head to her chest. Wraps her arms around his back.

“I don’t want to die.” He tenses at her words. “I can’t let you do that, not again.” She soothes the tension in his shoulders. Kisses his temple.

“But I don’t think I could live without you either.” She sighs, rests her head against the door. Fights against the pressure building behind her eyes.

“You need to explain some things.” She laughs. “A lot of things actually.”

“Then maybe,” she pushes him away. A teasing smile dancing across her lips. “You’ll have worked hard enough for it.” She brings their foreheads together, runs the bridge of her nose against his.

“And you could have me, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah they’re naked the whole chapter. 
> 
> It is what it is.
> 
> Anyway! I think this is the official end! I might post chapter (as like a prologue?) but I’m not sure yet.
> 
> I hope you all liked it! I have never finished a multi chapter fic before so honestly I feel pretty proud. And a little sad that it’s over. I’ll miss all your comments and love. 💚

**Author's Note:**

> I literally had this titled as 'Aye Lmao' in my google docs.


End file.
